


No hope, no love, no glory, no happy ending

by rip1009



Series: Requiem for a fool. His Dark Chronicles. [9]
Category: Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Against the Wall - Freeform, Anal Sex, Anger, Anger and Sadness, Angry Sex, Angst, Blood, Blood Kink, Blood and Violence, Gore, Hate Sex, Kinktober, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, extreme violence, my baby boy mourns Santiago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 14:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16243529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rip1009/pseuds/rip1009
Summary: Set after "Requiem for a fool" (https://archiveofourown.org/works/13125309) in the wake of Santiago's death, Nicolas faces a brave new world and exorcises some demons.This story is my offering for Kinktober 2018 ( I chose blood/gore; angry sex; against the wall - basically this is a juicy, angry, angsty, smutty fic)





	No hope, no love, no glory, no happy ending

**Author's Note:**

> [ I also present a timeline, cause, why not. It's stated that Nicolas' final death was in 1789 - and since you're here, you know I chose to present the "what if" scenario in which he didn't, so chronologically this fic is set after "Requiem for a Fool".
> 
> "Requiem for a fool" is set in 1862 ( the year of the destruction of the Theater, for artistic license I chose Christmas Eve as the night of the fire and Santiago's death).
> 
> Therefore, taking in account, the healing period Nicolas took to recover up until the destruction of the theater, there's plenty of time for him to have meet and Sired Santiago and for the said Santiago to end up in Paris.
> 
> The events in this story are set against the turmoil in the Balkan region in the 19th century]

_This is the hardest story,_  
_That I have ever told..._

 

Nicolas bit viciously into the mortal throat, pinning the helpless victim against the decaying wall. There was no mercy about the act. He tore through skin, muscle and tendons, spitting the pieces on the ground as he feasted on the mercenary. Blood spilled on his chin and neck, his shirt was ruined and Nicolas pushed the bastard further, hearing the cracks of bones and joints under his iron grip. 

He had tried to forget. He had tried to accept the loss. He had failed. Each night, he felt haunted by Santiago's memory. Driven by a personal oath, he stayed away from the path of extracting vengeance although the desire screamed and screamed, urging him to forsake laws and promises. Nicolas The Obedient One, the words put together made him howl from the pain tearing him from inside. In the past, he had spit on the laws but after his brush with the fire, he had become interested in learning about their laws. The laws who punished the crimes against their blood. The laws that should have allowed him to ask for blood. 

For weeks, Nicolas had studied ancient tomes and scrolls and searched for a way. Each night, he forced himself to move on. Accept and move on. And he failed. His soul felt raw. He knew he should seek the higher path but deep inside, he screamed and screamed over the terrible loss of his beloved 'Tiago. 

The dying mortal in his grip was turning cold and Nicolas knew the night will bring another and another. It wasn't even for the sake of feeding. He desired destruction. He wanted to kill. Violently, viciously, without conscience. And he had ended up in the perfect spot. Europe was torn apart, the Balkans eternally cursed to bear the burden of other countries politics. The lands were ripe with mercenaries, murderers, thieves, rapists. And Nicolas was using the grounds as his hunting territory. The artist, the musician lay dormant as the predator was lurking and preying.

The body will end in the pile not far from his grounds. Burned corpses in a fury to avoid the plague and other homely diseases. 

Nicolas pushed the corpses harder into the wall, hearing the skull beginning to crack. His body convulsed as he repeated the act until there wasn't much to comprehend from the bloody mass of bone, brain, skin and tissue. A mangled head crumbling in his grip, the eyes popping out of their sockets, dangling like twisted ornaments. His voice was a deep growl as he starred at the butchery. He needed more. His heart, his soul, his pain needed more. He needed to drawn his pain into something. With shaking hands, he starting pulling the corpse to the pyre. Anger radiating from him like a second skin. He could feel, others like him stating away. Afraid, horrified by his acts. The small village was a ruin in the wake of the wars, only a garrison and a meeting place for various butchers like himself. He carried his victim to the pyre, throwing it in the flames, his face motionless, his eyes filled with anger and pain like two beast fighting inside him. He allowed this fight, he controlled it and he killed without mercy.

He stood and watched, the fire always having a soothing effect, the dance of flames, the warmth, the smell of putrid flesh rising high and the bodies, bloated and torn became ash.

Nicolas left continuing his hunt. He knew he was followed. Poor, pathetic creature who decided to do so. He turned his steps to a secluded area, letting the bastard quicken his steps. He smelled the fear, the blood and the arousal. He searched his mind as well. A young soldier who had seen him earlier, a vicious killer like himself who already had killed and raped and now was entranced by the mysterious man who made his killings look like a child's play. Nicolas could smell the arousal and the hunger. Perfect.

Brutality hungered for brutality. In a swift move, Nicolas had the man pinned to a wall, grinning as the idiot was trying to sort his desires. Fear, lust and anger danced in the mind and Nicolas hungered for them all. He punished the pout lips, tearing, licking and driving his tongue deep inside the willing mouth. The boy was struggling and Nicolas couldn't care less about the brutality. Might as well enjoy it further sending a scene from the boy's past back inside his skull. The boy's eyes went wide. Fearful as he was shown how he had raped a mother and daughter before handling the desperate women into the ravenous hands of his mates, tender bodies ravaged by the brutes.

"I will make you feel worse than they did" He said in a low, deadly tone before resuming with his punishing kiss.

The world around them changed and Nicolas tensed as he recalled a fateful night in Madrid and the body in his grip morphed into the strong form of his 'Tiago. He was greeted by the mischievous stare, daring him to act.  His beautiful 'Tiago tugging his clothes, his body feverish, hungry for Nicolas. He recalled the taste of those plump lips. The taste of Santiago's blood on his tongue. He could hear the moans of pleasure, he could feel the powerful grip on the man's hands on his shoulder, begging Nicolas for more. He could feel the pulsing cock through the cloth as his beloved tried to gain as much friction as possible.  Nicolas remember how he tore the flimsy material barring him from that sweet ass, adjusting Santiago's legs around his middle as he pushed inside that tight, scorching heat. He trembled, forcing himself not to hurt his dear mortal but his 'Tiago welcomed the forceful push prying his tender insides, his breath ragged as he urged himself to resist the assault on his body, his head bent, inviting Nicolas to satisfy his need with his blood.

The young soldier boy whimpered as Nicolas ripped his pants, mumbling for mercy. There was no mercy tonight and no mercy for the nights that followed. 

Without care, without tenderness, Nicolas pushed his cock deep inside the mortal man, the smell of blood hitting him immediately. The flesh was torn as he kept his assault with deep trusts. There was no love, not even sexual desire, Nicolas wanted to punish and he did it without remorse. The boy's words were stuck in his throat, shock and pain having had engulfed him completely. Nicolas' hands were iron on the delicate hips, bruising until the bruise made way to blood and the crack of bone signaled the inhuman strength which assaulted the mortal body.

This was different from the hungry, erotic lovemaking with his Santiago. The deep trusts performed with care but precise enough to ensure completion. The arms around his neck were acting like an anchor keeping his soon to be childe from falling. The blood. The blood tasted different when spiked with arousal. It was sweet not raw, peppered with fear and pain. Yet pain was what Nicolas was looking for as he resumed his ministrations, his mouth attached to the scrawny neck, biting deep and taking the blood forcefully. The body was caving under his wicked ministrations, his cock tearing the flesh through forceful, deep trusts, the boy was already feverish, losing conscientiousness. No matter. Nicolas pushed him further, delighted by the sound of moans and broken bones. He pulled from the bruised hole, keeping his hand around the neck. He wanted something else. A heart for a broken heart. He scavenged through skin, tissue and ribs until his hand was around the trembling organ. He pulled it without mercy, veins dangling, ruptured like tendrils. He descended his fangs, the blood flowing and smearing his face and neck. A heart for a broken heart. 

In his mind, he could still hear Santiago's moans of completions, his body tight around him as he experienced the complete surrender. 

The night was still young and Nicolas broken heart craved for vengeance. Vengeance he couldn't extract on those who had allowed for his beautiful one to die. The laws had been twisted and personal vendettas had been delivered. The price had been paid by his 'Tiago. 

Nicolas arranged his clothes, pulling his long coat over his black blood soaked shirt and tucked his prick inside the black pants. Once upon a time, he had been the merchant's son, dressed in red. He favored black ever since the fire. Black felt more fitting for what he was now. The mortal man had long died and the beast inside him was finally attuned with the artist. The beast longed for order, for justice. His heart was broken. Again.

The night was young and the fire turned the last victim into ash and Nicolas resumed his vindication. The boys comrades were logged inside the brothel. He could hear the screams of the women and boys inside. 

The night was young and his heart was bleeding and in its place, the beast wrapped its arms around Nicolas.

The night was young and his Santiago was still dead, his ashes scattered to the wind before Christmas morning.

 


End file.
